Another Hurley Hero

Can I just say this has nothing to do with me:

Mass Cancelled as Fr Hurley is Away

But Hoorah and Huzzah that another Hurley is on the side of the saints and general goodness.

Go go Fr Hurley! Sock it to the heretics.

And after your time away to recharge your batteries get back to the pulpit and let's have some sermons that resonate with fire and brimstone! Old Pa Hurley expects nothing less.

Royal Mail: More Expensive for a Worse Service

This poster is quite famous to connoisseurs of wartime and propaganda posters. It encourages people to post their letters in the morning.

It seems today we need a new poster: encouraging the Post Office to deliver our mail in the morning.

In the last few years mail to Hurley Towers has gone from being delivered circa 8am to being delivered at any time between 1pm and 2pm.

With this worsening service the PO is now putting up its rates by an inflation busting 14p to 50p (2nd class). What they don't tell us is that the heavier items and overseas items will go up by a comparatively more expensive amount.

It seems we are expected to pay more for a worse service!

This seems a fitting lesson on the modern world. Everything seems to get more expensive and the item/service seems to get worse. And perhaps worse of all, when working people are feeling the pinch, the government just seems to sit by and do nothing!

The increase in post will effect small businesses, OAPs (some of whom don't do emails etc.) and those who can least afford it. It will bring about additional costs which will impact on firms' wage bills or on the price of items, impacting ether on inflation or the wage packet of those fighting to pay the bills (all of which seem to go up).

All the while, we (the poor plebs) are left twiddling our thumbs, unable to have a say, just having to fork out more money, for a poor service. Just so the Royal Mail can be "pimped up" prior to privatisation. And what after that? Will buying a stamp be like buying a train ticket? I shudder to think...

Sadly I don't have 250K so can't get a sit-down meal with David and Samantha Cameron to air my woes. C'est la vie.

Tip of the Week: Water for Drought-Hit England

In those areas of England hit by drought (NB: certainly not Wales, Scotland or Ireland!) they have to conserve their water resources. What a great way for the Celtic nations to make money from the rich South East! Sell them water. Not least as it's only 100 odd miles from the Welsh border to the South East.

One big canal scheme would get lots of people in to work and would provide an income for Wales from the rich South East of England.

So come on Mr. Cameron! Put down your cutlery and get off your horse. We have three problems to solve: unemployment, the wobbling economy and a drought.

Meanwhile for those in the South East of England worried about water usage, here's a poem to help when doing your daily ablutions:

If It's Yellow: Let it Mellow.
If it's Brown: Flush it Down.
If it's Black: See the Quack.
If it's Pink: See a Shrink.

Thank you.

My services as an adviser to government on the environment are available. Ministers and Whitehall hirelings need only drop me a line for my very reasonable rates. Pip pip.

How Debauched! How Decadent!

I am blogging from bed. It doesn't seem right. Perhaps I'm getting more liberal and bohemian (instinct tells me to give that a capital B - sleepiness is no excuse for slacking one's standards) as I approach my 40th birthday (another one for the Confessional).

Patch the Dog (PTD) gave me a sideways glance of real disdain as I climbed into bed (am I getting shorter so's I need to climb?) as if to say "yes? What do you want... Disturbing me thus?"

And there we have it. That's my lot in life. I am lower in the pecking order in this house than PTD who looks at me with such disdain when I interrupt his dreams of catching the biggest ever bone (yes in doggy dreams bones run away).

Today I found out the battery hen place we bought our last hens from has closed down, so my job this week is to locate a new place to get some new hens (if only to improve my standing in the pecking order...).

One last issue to get off my Cardiff City t-shirt (doubling as pyjim-jam top) clad-chest. Do goldfish in captivity breed? I ask because there is a revolutionary situation in our garden pond.

The water snails (yes they are above me in household importance) which we got for free from a local wild pond (just in case Old Pa Hurley is looking in) have had children. There are baby water snails in the pond. That's not debatable nor revolutionary. The government need not change the definition of marriage for our water snails!

No, the issue is our goldfish. Two tiny black fish have appeared, circa one inch long. There is debate as to whether they are the offspring of the goldfish (and will change colour) or got into the pond with plants, snails or tadpoles we've (ahem) borrowed from municipal ponds in our locale.

So if you know, or have an idea that will help our goldfish know they haven't fallen foul of inter-racial adoption rules of local councils, and help me settle down and get the sleep of the righteous (like PTD) which I might well deserve, contrary to what everyone above me in the social strata in this house (and garden) might have you believe, do tell.

Don't listen to the water snails (now there's a life lesson I'm happy to share for a small fee).

Let me know when you can. You can mark it in your diary as part of your Lenten almsgiving to the (intellectually) poor.

Good night, God bless.

Nos Da.

What's That Big Yellow Thing in the Sky?

It's been sunny today. They say it'll be sunny tomorrow.

That'll be our Summer then! Better make the most of it.

If Welsh Water try and pass off a hosepipe ban in these parts after a few hot days they'll have an insurrection on their hands. A couple of times this Winter just gone I've seen Noah over the local park laying out planks and measuring up.

In all seriousness though, we have to look at the big questions, the important issues that a change in the weather like this means.

Dare I don shorts tomorrow and frighten the animals? Decisions decisions...

Remembering T Hurley of Crumlin, One More Soldier...

The Crumlin War Memorial

On BBC Wales News tonight (Wales Today) there was a story about a war memorial in Crumlin, north of Cardiff. The metal plaque on the memorial was stolen, but luckily an elderly gent in the town had written down all the names and so the plaques could be recreated.

On showing the new plaque there right near the top (1914-18) was a T. Hurley (see pic at right, T Hurley is second from top, middle column).

How very sad that some low life thinks so little of the dead, of our history and of the sacrifices men made - to nick metal war plaques just for a few quid.

And so we can remember T. Hurley from Crumlin who died so many years ago.

I like to think as my famous rugby-playing great grandad Henry Huzzey came from Pontypool, just five miles from Crumlin, that maybe the Hurleys from Crumlin and the Huzzeys from Pontypool may have bumped into each other in the street once or twice... who knows?


Crumlin War Memorial Re-Dedicated

The Laws of Nature and Our Bathroom

The universe has many laws. They are facts of life. The good Lord made them and we complain about their actualité at our peril.

• We can rage against the law of gravity (and come down to earth with a bump). 
• We can fool ourselves that we can stop or reverse the effects of ageing (and end up looking like a clown - or Joan Rivers).  
• We can swear to break the Ten Commandments (and just become nasty, evil, twisted -- and often tediously boring).

The laws of nature are there for a reason. They stop us getting too big for our boots. They remind us that we are not godlike.

But there's one law in particular that we gents in particular can moan about, try and buck, but it will ultimately win through:

• Ladies like to buy things. Oh yes they do.

Yes. While men tend to complain about the price of things, women like to buy things. Mrs H tends to leave me at home, at work, walking Patch or wherever when she goes shopping, because she knows that I will either moan and groan until she gives up, or I will keep looking over her shoulder saying things like:

• We've got one (or two, three, four etc.) of those already.
• What do you want one of those for?
• How much?
• It's not worth that much.
• They make those for pennies.

Well, the other day Mrs H brought home some signs for the bathroom. All four-letters designed to place near the appropriate bathroom furniture where one does the appropriate ablutions.

Thankfully they couldn't thing of a four-letter verb linked with the toilet. Small mercies.


P.S. A Happy St Joseph's Day to Old Pa Hurley

Happy Mother's Day... to Old Ma Hurley

For bringing me and my siblings into this world and putting up with us all.

There is an old Hurley called Ma,
Who to us is a bit of a star.
A long time ago
She married her Joe.
Can you imagine the mental scars?

And now she's a Nan many times.
The children form orderly lines.
They know she's a winner
And cooks a mean dinner
(And Ron's there Saturday bang on 9).

So a hip hip hooray for Mum (and Nan).
She's been around since the world began.
At knitting she's quick,
But gold at the Olympics?
If anyone can do it -- she sure can!

Grand Slam Fever: The Welsh Grow By a Few Million

It was all for the Hoff- like so many who have converted to Welshness

Oh to be Welsh on such a glorious day!

Hang on a minute. I am!

Yippee!

Mmmmmmmm. Taste that Grand Slam goodness.

Today everyone who is anyone is Welsh.

• The Pope (of course) is Welsh.
• The entire Cardiff, Swansea and Wrexham squads are Welsh.
• Everyone in Gloucestershire, Herefordshire, Shropshire, Cheshire, and Merseyside are Welsh.
• The Cumbrians and inhabitants of Strathclyde are returning to their Welsh roots.
• Wolverhampton says it is still in Powys.
• Our cousins in Cornwall are officially Welsh.
• Everyone married to a Welsh person or with a Welsh brother, sister, son or daughter-in-law is Welsh.
• Everyone who's been across the Severn Bridge is Welsh.
• Everyone who's eaten a Welsh cake, a Peter's Pie or Clark's Pie, had cheese on toast (Welsh rarebit), drunk Brains, Felinfoel or Buckley's Beer is Welsh.
• Anyone who's eaten a leek or grown (or seen) a daffodil is Welsh.
• Anyone with an Atlas, map or Google earth (which includes Wales) is Welsh.
• Anyone who sings quite well is Welsh.
• Anyone Irish (cos of St Patrick) is Welsh.
• Anyone called Williams, Davies, Parry, Price, Bowen, Wallace, Walsh or Jones is Welsh.
• Anyone wearing red is Welsh.
• Anyone who's watched Dr Who, Hi De Hi, Being Human, Gavin & Stacey or Casualty is Welsh.
• Anyone who can do a terrible Welsh accent (that sounds like a Pakistani) is Welsh.
• Anyone who lives in a valley or on a mountain is Welsh.
• Anyone who lives around the Irish Sea (now known as the Welsh Ocean) is Welsh.
• Anyone who's caught a ferry (to Swansea, Pembroke, Holyhead preferably - but not essential) is Welsh.
• Anyone with a castle (henceforth to be called a castell) within 100 miles of their home or workplace is Welsh.
• Anyone who's used coal or slate is Welsh.
• Anyone in Catalonia (where castell also means castle) or anyone in Italy or France (where ffenestr, the word for window is almost the same) is Welsh.
• Anyone called Gareth (hurrah!), David, Lloyd, Bethan, Blodwyn, Rhiannon or similar is Welsh.
• Anyone whose flag is red, white and green (e.g. Belarus, Bulgaria, Basque, Italy, Hungary, Algeria and Iran) is Welsh.

Probably the person today with the weakest claim to be Welsh is the Germano-Greek "Prince of Wales" aka Charles Saxe-Coburg-Gotha.

So raise your glass of Brains beer or Penderyn Whiskey! Hold high your Clark's or Peter's Pie! (substitutes are acceptable at short notice) and with me, raise your voices so that St Peter himself (obviously Welsh) hears you and drops his keys in shock, as you sing: Gwlad! Gwlad! Pleidiol Wyf I'm Gwlad!*





*("Nation! Nation! True am I to my nation" – from the chorus of the Welsh National Anthem).

Mervyn Davies RIP, Rowan Williams Adios, Hello Grand Slam

Merv the Swerve. RIP

Sad news today.

No, not the resignation of Rowan Williams, the Welsh (Anglican) "Archbishop" of Canterbury.

Mervyn Davies - aka Merv the Swerve - the commanding force of the great Welsh rugby team of the 1970s has passed away.

Already folks are talking about wearing white headbands tomorrow as Wales take on France in a potentially Grand Slam winning match. What a fantastic sight that would be.

I was still in shorts when Merv the Swerve, JPR Williams, Gareth Edwards and all the 70s heroes brought glory to Wales. Yes I too wore a Grand Slam t-shirt in the late 70s (bought at Bessemer Road market if I remember right). Ah! 1970s Welsh rugby. Halcyon days. I wore it ragged, until the lettering and the three feathers peeled off and the red of the shirt faded. Happy, innocent times.

So if the Welsh team win tomorrow (if???) let it be in memory of Merv the Swerve, and we can all remember the days when side burns, flares and Welsh rugby reigned supreme.

As for the Archbishop (sic) of Canterbury, well as we share a mutual friend (honest!) I should make it clear at this stage that I'm not throwing my hat into the ring. I don't think I could put up with the queen's strops. Sorry I know that sounds disrespectful. But those queer bishops can't half scram ;-)

As for Rowan Williams the man, you have to feel a bit sorry for him really as the Anglicans are on a hiding to nothing. They still pretend they are somehow linked to the Apostles, when they are held over a barrel (if you'll excuse the awful visual imagery) by homosexual activists in their own church and amongst their own vicars. The fudge that Anglicanism always was (founded to permit a king to divorce his legally wed wife) has just got worse and worse and its religious boss cannot please all its many factions.

Just as well Welsh rugby is fighting fit with a triple Crown under its belt, and we Catholics have a leadership that (at least!) won't fudge when it comes to homosexuals' rights. We've had the statements against gay marriage from the Cardinal and Archbishops, now all we need is a  Grand Slam victory (topped up with a St Patrick's Day victory for the Irish) and it'll be as if everything in the garden is just tickedy boo.

Let's have this weekend to bask in the glory, then we can worry about picking apart the government's lies over "gay marriage" and its campaign to undo thousands of years of marriage, to the detriment of society, from next week onwards.

Tip of the Week: if in Doubt Report it!

My Tip of the Week is to take reports with a pinch of salt.

This week I've heard that red meat will bring you an early death; and that pensions are in crisis because we are all living longer than ever before (ask Old Pa Hurley, he's 105).

This week I've heard that primary school children are uneducated, can't sufficiently read etc. yet almost annually we hear how exam results at secondary schools are getting better than ever before (whilst we still hear how children think Hitler played in goals for Germany or Churchill led the troops at Waterloo).

I've also heard how wine can shorten and elongate your life.

If you took all government, NGO, pressure group and other reports at face value you'd be a gibbering wreck!

Stop Telling Porky Pies!

If you see me wearing a black armband in the next few days, don't worry. No-one's died. I am mourning the news that pork pies are within the category of "red meat" that should be avoided to have a longer life.

What terrible, terrible news.

Still I suppose if it all gets a bit much... I needn't jump in the car and pop the co-ordinates for Beachy Head into the sat nav I haven't got, I can simply open the fridge and reach for a pork pie!

Pagan Prisoners to Pray in the Nude? It's No Oil Painting

I am not a number: and I'm keeping my kit on! 

It's in the news today that a pagan prisoner wants the "right" to pray in the nude. Presumably he's allowed his own altar, tree to hug (watch those splinters!) or cat to sacrifice? One assumes these would be his "rights" also.

Can I state here and now I wish to press my own right never to have to pray in the nude, or to witness others do so?

Some hedonists or pagans or even atheists may worship the human body (though in my humble opinion the non air-brushed variety or those not touched-up in paintings are no... erm... oil paintings, on average) yet it always strikes me as weird in the extreme that these Heinz 57 varieties of weirdies would prefer to worship the human body, rather than the God who created it. It's also a wonder that the most hedonistic and narcissistic of all are the ones who seek out the surgeon's knife to alter their body the most. Whilst denying God they would seek to play at being God, seeking to defy time, age and gravity, which God in His wisdom made laws of nature.

I'm happier to leave my ageing, sagging body as it is - as long as I don't have to see it too often! Even wearing shorts in the Summer is enough to make cats screech and passers-by run for cover. I am reminded of Old Pa Hurley in his football playing days. Many said he was sponsored by Unigate, given the resemblance between his legs and two pints of milk!

As for the pagan prisoners, I would say they can have their "rights" to pray in the nude, alone in a cold cell, surrounded by mirrors. This may at first appeal to their narcissistic nature, but would soon make them realise that whilst scientifically the human body is a wonder in its intricacy thanks to its Creator, its reality in the cold light of day is all too often a sobering sight that'd frighten the horses.

A Birthday Limerick for Old Pa Hurley

There is an old man called Joe
Who wreaks havoc wherever he goes
He was it at again
In the club at half ten
'Tis whenever the Brains doth flow.

Defend Marriage: Sign the Petition

Sign the C4M petition if you believe that marriage is between one man and one woman.

Click here.

Why?

Because some things (marriage, pork pies and rugby) should be above politics.